Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Mitch and Trisha

"I am so sorry," the cab driver continued to apologize profusely.

"It's ok, really it's ok," Chelsea assured him, trying to mask her disappointment. The driver had pulled up to a lovely restaurant. The windows had fogged over with heat, but through the opaque glass she had been able to see crisp white table clothes, small flickering candles, and square china with small, elegant plates of food. She could easily picture herself enjoying something delicious while watching Chris' eyes sparkle various shades of blue in the candlelight.

"I should have known about the dress code. I really hope you accept my apology."

Chris opened the car door for Chelsea and she slid in. He could tell she was feeling a little let down, though she tried desperately to hide it. His mind began to race, wondering how he could fix it. "It's really not your fault, don't worry about it. I am certain there are other wonderful places to eat," he said to the driver as he placed his hand on Chelsea's knee. She smiled at him. The cab driver started the ignition and the engine purred as they pulled back into the street. Once again the windows fogged up. Chelsea quickly wiped some of condensation away and watched the sparkling lights of early evening. Chris watched her, searching for any sign of disappointment. Though it was something so seemingly insignificant, he really didn't want to let her down. But he couldn't see anything, her head was turned away. He slid into the middle of the seat.

"Put your seatbelt on, crazy man," Chelsea muttered, gently squeezing his leg.

Chris reached around her, using his index finger to write, "Disappointed?" on the window. At first she couldn't read it. Chelsea tilted her head, "Disappointed about what?" she whispered.

"Tonight."

"You are crazy." She stopped looking out the window and faced Chris. "Why on earth would I be disappointed?"

"Because," he whispered into her hair, "we aren't eating dinner back there," he gestured nodding his head back toward the restaurant in the rearview mirror. "We could go to the hotel, change and go back. I could tell them who I am." He kissed her temple.

"Mmmmm," she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm feeling of his lips on the side of her forehead. "If you want," but before she could finish her statement she was interrupted by his growling stomach. The interruption caused her to giggle. "I'm not disappointed, Chris. It sounds like your stomach is. Let's just eat, ok?" Chris nuzzled her, breathing in the fresh shampoo scent and he added taking her out to a fancy dinner to a list of things he needed to do. "What was that?" Quickly she turned her head and looked back at something they had passed.

"What?" Chris asked.

"What was that?" Chelsea leaned forward, holding the back of the driver's seat. The driver turned looking briefly at her. "That little side street, with the twinkle lights and little carts, what was it?"

"Oh!" The driver slowed the cab and pulled to the side of the road. "You have good eyes. That's another favorite. Pedestrian only. You call them, um, food trucks?"

"Food trucks?" Chris asked skeptically.

"It's not the same as what you're thinking. I don't know how to properly describe. They're not vehicles, but they're not restaurants." The driver had parked and was turned around trying to explain what Chelsea had seen. What she noticed was the warm glow of lights draped across the thin street. She thought it was adorable with the wisps of steam rising from the ground and stray snowflakes drifting about. "Lots of small places are there. Lots of local lunch favorites. I get palat there."

Chris and Chelsea exchanged a glance, both wondering about chocolate sprinkles.

"It's like chips," the driver explained. "You want me to take you back there? I can only take you to the entrance to the street, you have to walk the rest of the way."